Jordan 
Farms 

An  Epic  in 
Homespun 

F.  E.  Pierce 


JORDAN   FARMS 

AN    EPIC    IN    HOMESPUN 


JORDAN    FARMS 


AN   EPIC   IN   HOMESPUN 


BY 
FREDERICK   E.   PIERCE 

Author  of  "  The  World  That  God  Destroyed, 
and  Other  Poems" 


NEW    HAVEN,   CONNECTICUT 
YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


COPYRIGHT,  1916 
BY  YALE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


First  published,  October,  1916 


TO   THE   UNKNOWN    RELATIVES   OF 
NEW  ENGLAND'S  GREAT  MEN 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Prelude.     The  Village  Cemetery       ....        1 
PART  ONE.     The  Trail  of  the  Waster 

A.  What   I   Learned   from    Henry   Jor 

dan's  Neighbors 5 

B.  What  I  Learned  from  Mrs.  Ormond 

(formerly  Hester  Dane)        ...        9 

C.  What  I   Learned   from   Judge  Wey- 

burne 20 

PART  Two.     The  Builder  Behind  the  Waster 

D.  What  I  Learned  from  Professor  Mil- 

ner 37 

E.  What  I  Learned  from  Marshall  Jor 

dan   48 

F.  Nunc  Dimittis — Being  What  I  Found 

Among  Henry  Jordan's  Papers 
and  What  Dreams  I  Dreamed  over 
Them  66 


JORDAN   FARMS 

AN    EPIC    IN    HOMESPUN 


PRELUDE 
THE  VILLAGE  CEMETERY 

Let  him  who  loves  a  stern  and  rural  tale, 
Told  simply  of  stern,  simple  lives,  give  ear, 
Crouched  on  the  grass  of  this  old  burial-ground, 
Where  many  an  hour  the  butterflies  and  I 
Watched  day  unheeded  glide  to  evening.     Here 
Meet  past  and  present;  each  memorial  stone 
Links  dead  and  living,  makes  us  heirs  of  time's 
Great  human  treasure  trove.    A  voice  around 
Goes  up  as  out  of  Dante's  world  of  dead, 
Old  love  and  hate  and  noble  deeds  unknown. 

In  these  two  graves  lie  kinsmen,  dust  by  dust. 
One  woman  loved  them  both,  one  rood  of  ground 
Shall  hold  their  bones  till  time  forget  its  count; 
Yet  Congo's  heat  and  Greenland's  frozen  world 
Were  not  more  sundered  than  their  lives  and  souls. 
And  I,  who  never  saw  them,  hearing  long 
In  sad  rehearsal  tales  that  haunt  the  tomb, 
Mused  near  their  graves  in  twilight's  mellowing 

beam, 

Or  drowsy  noontide,  till  my  thoughts  communed 
With   them,   or   what   they   were.      Then,  curious 

grown, 


2  JORDAN  FARMS 

From  all  remaining  records  and  the  talk 

Of  aged  folk  I  strove  to  build  anew 

The  lives  that  were,  the  changing  characters, 

The  men  who  walked  these  fields  and  now  are  not. 

As  erst  in  Endor,  round  the  spell  they  rise 
Of  witch  and  Saul,  of  playmate,  friend,  and  foe. 
Dead  feet  are  on  the  grass  of  other  years; 
Old  deeds  are  done;  old  words  from  echo's  tomb 
Reverberate,  hollow  sounding,   false  or  true, 
Such  dim  half-truths  as  buried  lives  allow. 
Even  while  I  write  my  models  melt  and  change; 
The  old  New  England  like  the  gray  Old  Year 
Dies  on  the  stroke  of  twelve;  and  at  the  door 
His  red-cheeked  opposite  brings  in  the  new. 
And  I,  who  saw  the  old  days  fading,  tell 
What  future  readers  may  but  find  in  tombs. 

Count  not  my  story  sad;  for  many  a  time 
Are  Hope's  apostles  they  who  walk  in  tears 
Life's  darkest  nook  to  find  joy  even  there. 
I  lead  through  night,  but  night  with  rising  stars. 


PART  ONE 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  WASTER 

From  the  confessionals  I  hear  arise 
Rehearsals  of  forgotten  tragedies. 

Longfellow's  Divina  Commedia. 

Dante,  who  loved  well  because  he  hated, 
Hated  wickedness  that  hinders  loving. 

Browning's  One  Word  More. 


A.     WHAT  I  LEARNED  FROM  HENRY 
JORDAN'S  NEIGHBORS 

The  hills  roll  down  to  plain,  the  plain  to  knolls, 
The  knolls  in  turn  to  pool  and  swampy  swale, 
White  flash  of  fall,  and  homes  far  off  and  few. 
There  deep  in  green,  so  walled  about  with  trees 
It  looks  a  sylvan  temple  miles  away, 
But  near  a  farmhouse  weathered,  marred,  and  old, 
Stands  Jordan  Farms.    Around  it  drowse  the  fields 
Where  Henry  Jordan  played,  and  earlier  yet 
His  uncle  Wellman.     Ancient  ivies  drape, 
Unchanged,  the  room  that  saw  the  buried  born. 

I  paused  in  entering.     Lowing  cattle  came 
Along  the  highway  urged  by  shouting  men, 
Red  Devon  oxen,  handsome,  sleek,  and  strong, 
Their  wide  horns  flashing  in  the  noon.     Behind 
Their  owner  rode,  pink-cheeked  and  cheery-eyed, 
Incarnate  gale  and  sun;  and  seeing  me 
He  leisurely  halted  in  the  wind  and  shade. 

"A  handsome  place,"  he  said,  "but  ruined  now, 
With  mossy  roofs  and  window-frames  awry, 
And  tumbling  walls  and  acres  gone  to  waste, 
Where  fifty  years  ago  no  finer  farm 
Was  found  for  miles,  more  rich  and  handsome  too, 


6  JORDAN  FARMS 

In  Almon  Jordan's  time.     But  when  he  died 
His  young  half-brother  Wellman,  whom  his  wife, 
Some  say,  preferred  in  childhood,  married  her; 
Then  waste,  decay,  and  ruin  followed  fast. 

"And  Henry,  Almon's  boy,  had  gifts  of  mind 
That  elsewhere  might  have  shone ;  his  baby  head 
His  father  blessed  in  dying,  telling  them  all, 
'Give  him  the  chance  I  never  had/     But  here 
His  wild  stepfather's  waste  and  mother's  folly 
Chained  him  at  work  God  never  meant  him  for. 
So  year  on  year  he  drudged  against  the  grain 
With  dead  men's  debts  on  land  the  dead  ran  down, 
Among  these  lonely  hills  where  no  one  comes; 
Read  books  for  hours  to  make  his  mind  forget; 
And  piled  up  useless  knowledge,  and  grew  poor." 

"Yes,  yes,"  a  passing  neighbor  echoed,  sad 
As  earth's  grim  prose  in  fancy's  emerald  isle, 
A  village  lawyer,  bowed  and  white  with  years, 
"Wellman  was  only  a  boy  and  praised  by  all, 
Mother  and  ladies,  college  mates  and  friends, 
More   loved   than   loving,   marrying   lightly;    and 

grew— 

No  matter  what,  since  he  is  dead,  but  darkened 
By  petty  tyranny  all  his  stepson's  boyhood. 

"One  summer  evening  near  The  Farms  I  heard 
A  voice  that  mocked  and  domineered,  and  saw, 


JORDAN  FARMS  7 

On  drawing  closer,  Wellman's  angry  form, 
Fading  in  night  among  the  tamarack  trees. 
In  glowing  moonlight  Henry  passed,  mere  child, 
Before  that  home  the  dead  had  built  for  him, 
Trembling  with  powerlessness  of  wrath,  and  sob 
bing 

Wild  threats  of  what  his  manhood's  years  would 
do. 

"Some  loved  the  orphan  boy;  he  grew  in  time 
Grave,  reverent,  fearing  God  and  wronging  none; 
But  fates  were  all  against  the  man;  his  life, 
However  good,  was  one  long  failure,  sir." 

He  shook  his  head;  and  over  him  a  breeze 
Woke  a  dry  sob  among  the  brooding  boughs, 
The  drover  echoing,  "failure."     I  in  doubt 
Approached   the   dead   man's    hushed   and   empty 
house. 

Too  old,  too  molded  round  dead  lives  it  seemed 
To  make  new  lives  a  home;  yet  sunny  in  age, 
And  calm  in  green  seclusion.     Ruby-throats 
Built  in  the  doorway,  hummed  among  the  flowers. 
The  long  grass   drowsed  with  naught  to  do  but 

dream. 

Like  hospitable  souls  the  apple-trees 
Reached  down  their  reddening  meal;  and  lisping 

leaves 


8  JORDAN  FARMS 

Breathed  table-talk  of  dead  New  England  dames 
Through  endless  afternoons.    Embayed  in  green, 
The  porch,  all  verdure,  seemed  a  twinkling  pool, 
With  trumpet-flowers  for  mirrored  moonlight ;  only 
One  spray  above  the  door  and  entering  guest 
Hung  arms  of  benison,  floral  bugles  flaring, 
Blowing  dumb  music  out  of  no-man's  land, 
Or  out  of  lands  that  hold  the  owner  now. 
His  scythe  hung  rusting  in  the  butternut. 
His  ox-yoke  rotted  by  the  cherry's  root. 
And  saw  and  plane,  the  rust  on  tooth  and  edge, 
Amid  the  shavings  where  he  left  them  lay. 

With  borrowed  key  I  softly  tried  the  door, 
That  yielded  groaning;  and  alone  I  stood 
Where  he  so  many  a  time  had  stood  alone. 
Ancestral  faces  from  their  frames  looked  down. 
Old  portraits  lined  the  mantel-ledge,  dark-stained, 
Perhaps  where  rain  from  leaking  roofs  had  run, 
Or  tears  from  welling  hearts.     A  marker  lay 
Between  his  Bible's  leaves  at  John  Fourteen. 
"Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,"  he  had  read; 
"Ye  trust  in  God,  believe  ye  too  in  me"; 
"I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless."     Even  so. 
The  Family  Record,  dim  with  time,  was  torn 
Where  Wellman's  name  should  be;  but  right  above 
Some  later  hand  had  traced  the  name  again. 
That  might  mean  much  or  nothing.     All  beside 
Was  eloquent  of  a  good  and  tranquil  past. 


B.  WHAT  I  LEARNED  FROM  MRS. 

ORMOND  (FORMERLY  HESTER 

DANE) 

With  rustic,  old-time  elegance,  her  room 
Wherein  I  waited  seemed  an  ancient  isle 
In  seas  of  modern  change,  ancestral  plate 
On  time-worn  sideboard,  chairs  that  Lafayette 
Might  bow  above  to  grave  colonial  dames. 
In  front  the  windows  viewed  a  yard  with  flowers. 
Behind  they  framed  a  scene  of  harvest  where 
With  cracking  whips  great  nodding  loads  of  hay 
Creaked  slowly  up  to  broad  and  shadowy  barns. 
There  moved  the  present   flushed  with  heat  and 

hope. 
My  hostess  entering  led  the  past  with  her. 

"Your  thoughts  would  make  the  dead  relive;  for 

me 

Still  Henry  Jordan  lived,  so  late  he  died. 
How  he  and  I  grew  friends  at  first  remains 
A  small  blue  peak  in  memory's  distant  haze, 
Too  dim  through  years  to  trace  the  path  we  trod, 
Though  not  too  dim  to  know  we  once  were  there. 
But  I  remember  following  far  with  him 
The  small  brown  brook  among  the  alders  winding, 


10  JORDAN  FARMS 

To  watch  the  darting  trout,  or  sit  for  hours 
On  banks  of  fragrant  mint,  whose  woven  leaves 
We  sailed  in  garlands  down  the  dimpling  stream. 
Through  dark  ravines  where  rills  ran  strangely  red 
From   moldering   sandstone   walls,    and    hemlocks 

hung 

Like  night  at  noon,  in  timorous  j  oy  we  stole ; 
Or  carved  our  names'  initials  interlaced 
On  some  broad  beech's  smooth  and  silvery  rind. 
And  head  by  head  above  the  books  we  loved, 
The  queer  old  books  enchanting  children  then, 
When  all  were  rare,  and  welcome  being  rare, 
We  roamed  with  elves  and  talking  birds,  or  cried 
At  woes  of  many  a  heroine,  robbed  and  wronged. 
Quaint  Bible  tales  and  history's  lives  we  learned; 
And  where  the  words  were  blind  read  meanings  in, 
Such  as  make  authors  gasp  and  children  glad. 

"Much  too  we  played  together.     Deep  in  wood 
There  grew  a  tree  whose  trunk,  too  early  bent, 
Rose  not  in  air  but  crept  along  the  ground, 
All  save  the  branching  top  that  skyward  spread. 
Here  hour  by  hour  where  no  intruder  came 
In  play  we  voyaged  a  fancied  deep,  our  hull 
The  trunk  with  upright  boughs  for  mast;  our  sails 
The  leaves  that  shook  in  wind  forever  cool. 
All  tales  and  pictures  out  of  foreign  lands 
We  gathered  there,  and  studying  them  for  chart 
Sailed  where  we  would.     Along  the  mottled  trunk 


JORDAN  FARMS  11 

The  weeds  and  grasses,  ruffled  by  the  breeze, 
Waved  up  and  down  like  billows  as  we  steered. 
Only  at  times  of  one  we  spoke,  whose  oars 
In  that  dark  wood  we  feared  or  feigned  to  fear, 
A  pirate  Wellman,  who  must  never  know 
Our  ship  or  where  it  sailed.     He  never  knew. 

"To  that  child's  tryst  one  morning  Henry  came 
With  cheerful  face  that  laughed  among  the  leaves. 
'Wellman  is  gone,'  he  cried,  'Wellman  is  gone, 
Far,  far  out  west  to  Californian  mines, 
With  half  a  world  between  us.     Mother  cried, 
Because  he  goes  and  quarreling  made  him  go; 
But  I — I'm  glad!'     That  was  a  happy  day. 
Through  oak  and  tulip-tree  the  sunbeam  slid; 
Deep  in  the  woodland  sang  a  hermit  thrush; 
And  on  our  sylvan  galley,  hour  by  hour, 
Through  haunted  seas  we  old  shall  sail  no  more 
We  floated  forth  together.     Many  a  year 
On  deeps  where  dipped  no  pirate  Wellman's  prow 
Our  lives  went  gliding  happily  after  that. 
He  had  no  sister,  brother  none  had  I; 
Sister  and  brother  in  our  souls  we  grew, 
Too  close  to  be  most  close — or  soon  forget. 

"There  came  a  time  when  one  most  dear  to  me 
Grew  dear  to  him  in  ways  I  never  dreamed. 
This  ambrotype,  faded  as  memories  fade, 
Was  hers  her  bridal  day — the  face  he  chose — 


12  JORDAN  FARMS 

With  glad  yet  haunted  eyes,  as  if  she  knew 

That  love  was  near  and  death  not  far  away 

That  fateful  hour.     She  died  so  long  ago 

The  mere  recalling  tells  me  I  am  old. 

Sweet,  gentle  face;  men  like  a  clinging  vine, 

And  love  its  memory  past  all  living  love 

When  death  undoes  its  beauty.    Peace  to  the  dead ! 

"She  was  my  little  sister,  sir;  and  I, 
Who  half  had  mothered,  could  not  hate  her  now 
For  stealing  him,  whose  grave  and  careworn  face — 
When  he  was  man  and  she  was  only  a  child — 
Would  meet  her  laugh  with  slowly  kindling  smile. 
So  child  grew  woman,  playmate  grew  beloved, 
Before  we  knew,  but  yet  no  pledge  was  theirs. 

"For  Henry  dared  not  marry,  not  with  her, 
That  fragile  child,  unfit  for  want's  hard  road, 
The  bitter,  only  road  that  Wellman's  life- 
Thoughtless  and  free,  flinging  the  golden  shower — 
Left  that  impoverished  home.     And  duty  stilled 
Each  bridal  thought  before  a  mother's  need. 
For  wild,  fast  men,  her  husband's  western  mates, 
Had  trained  in  vices  never  known  till  then 
That  pleasure-loving  heart.    Those  golden  dreams, 
Returning  others  robbed  of  health  and  home, 
To  Wellman's  friends  gave  back  a  ruined  soul, 
Incurable.     For  old  days  women  still, 
Though  men  condemn,  recall  him  tenderly; 


JORDAN  FARMS  13 

Great  nature's  work  of  mingled  grace  and  guile, 
With  charm  so  sweet  his  victim,  knowing  all, 
Forgave, — so  once  to  women  Wellman  seemed. 
And  this  his  angel  yet  may  plead  above: 
Each  darkest  deed,  all  malice,  all  things  more 
Than  wayward  flights  of  many  a  petted  son, 
Were  never  seen  before  those  western  years 
With  wild  adventurers,  ruiners  of  their  friends. 

"Now  first  across  my  sister's  humble  days 
Flashed  fortune's  changing  gleam.     A  gray  great- 
uncle, 
Whose  daughter's  name  she  bore,  whose  dim  old 

eyes 

Beheld  in  her  his  own  dead  Ellen's  youth, 
Moved  by  sad  memories  willed  her  all  he  owned, 
Green  miles  of  meadow,  golden  wands  to  wave 
And  make  hope's  visions  true,  the  long  deferred. 

"This    Wellman    learned    when    sin's    requiting 

hour — 

That  troubled  conscience,  yet  with  driving  fear 
Made  dumb  its  warning — placed  him,  home  and 

name, 

And  loved  one's  peace  if  yet  he  loved,  in  power 
Of  one  who  wooed  our  little  heiress.    Then — 
We    guess    what    terms    they    made,    what    bland 

excuse. 
'No  harm/  their  evil  angel  whispered,  'nay, 


14  JORDAN  FARMS 

True  kindness  rather,  guiding  one  so  young 
To  her  own  good,  uniting  wealth  to  wealth.' 
So,  plotting  well,  between  the  loving  pair 
They  thrust  an  evil  shadow,  lengthening  still; 
Till  all  one  night,  while  Henry  talked  with  us, 
Burst  out  like  lightning.     Clearly  yet  I  see 
The  nephew-stepson's  angry  face,  the  lips 
Lashing  the  liar,  and  eyes  like  probing  fire, 
A  lifetime's  injuries  finding  voice  at  last. 
Even  I  who  knew  him  stared;  and  Ellen  heard 
White  as  the  lily  bells  her  bosom  heaved. 
Just  once  I  thought,  'She  might  not  choose  him 

now'; 

Till  Wellman,  cowering  but  defiant,  sneered, 
'Brave  frightener  of  girls !'  and  Henry  turning 
Stopped  short  before  her  glance.      In  that  long 

pause 

Between  our  blinds  through  open  windows  blew 
The  dewy  blossom's  odor.     Hushed  and  mild 
The  rippling  river  talked  with  tranquil  night. 
Then  something  touched  me,  now  remembering  first 
His  lack  of  sisters,  all  she  meant  to  me. 
I  stole  away,  and  past  my  window  heard 
A  wild,  dark  figure  muttering  curses  go. 

"Late,  late  that  evening  after  Wellman  left 
They  sat  beneath  the  maple,  through  whose  leaves 
The  moon  looked  in,  retired,  and  looked  again. 
Some  barrier  broke  that  hour,  beyond  recall 


JORDAN  FARMS  15 

Uniting  two  who  might  have  chosen  others; 
But  all  is  past,  and  none  can  change  it  now. 

"Yet  fatal  work  began  that  moonlit  night 
From   Wellman   foiled,   whose  bright,  unbalanced 

mind 

Too  much  our  uncle's  feeble  age  admired. 
And  now  beside  his  deathbed  Wellman  urged 
Art,  charm,  and  flattery,  too,  in  anger's  cause. 
Our  uncle  died.     His  first  will,  seven  years  made, 
Gave  Ellen  all;  the  last,  a  fortnight  old, 
Gave  part  to  Wellman,  most  to  charity. 

"But  nothing  of  that  one  week  before  we  knew, 
My  sister's  bridal  night,  when  late  in  June 
Before  this  very  alcove  where  to-day 
I  sit  so  old  and  lonely,  stood  the  bride; 
And  friends  who  made  life  sweet  for  her  and  me 
In  voices  now  unheard  breathed  hope  and  love 
Round  sunset-kindled  windows.     Red  and  white, 
Lining  the  wall  from  gate  to  doorway,  bloomed 
My  great-grandmother's  roses.     Dewy  winds 
With  breath  of  honeysuckle  filled  the  air; 
And  all  seemed  happy.    First  to  greet  the  bride 
Was  Wellman,  bowing  like  some  old  grandee. 
He  may  have  smiled  at  what  he  learned  that  day, 
And  all  know  now,  his  triumph  and  his  shame. 
He  kissed  the  bride  his  bygone  joys  made  poor, 
And  mocking  wished  her  joy,  and  went  his  way. 


16  JORDAN  FARMS 

"And  so  my  sister  came  to  Jordan  Farms. 
With  sunny  head,  like  morning  light  she  flitted 
By  smoky  wainscot,  huge,  colonial  crane, 
And  long,  dark  cellars  piled  with  cask  and  bin, 
Or  fed  the  flushed  and  hurrying  harvest  hands 
When  sheaves  were  heaped  and  rumbling  thunder- 
heads  heaving. 

And  she  was  glad ;  but  round  the  place  there  clung 
Black  nearing  clouds  that  kindness  hid  from  her. 
Often  at  night,  he  told  me,  half  awake 
The    new-made    husband    saw    through    darkened 

panes 

The  peering  boughs  of  elm  and  tamarack  grow 
Dim  wolves  of  want  that  rose  and  fell  on  wind 
Against  the  barrier  soon  to  give  them  way; 
And  groaned  and  said:  'He  might  have  kept  his 

wealth, 

But  told  in  time  that  we  could  wait  and  plan.' 
With  bitterer  tears  dead  love  and  late  remorse 
Wet  the  frayed  pillow  where  his  mother  dreamed, 
Or  showed  the  gray  grandmother's  grief,  who  lay 
Mourning,  she  moaned,  beside  her  open  grave. 
Her  Wellman,   youngest   born,  bright,   handsome, 

learned, — 

Child  of  the  gay  young  wooer  whom  in  youth 
She  chose,  misjudged,  refused;  and  married  late, — 
Who  drank  up  knowledge  at  a  glance,  and  flashed 
And  scintillated  while  the  rest  were  dumb, 
Indulged  and  flattered  through  the  years  to  be 


JORDAN  FARMS  17 

The  family  plunderer  and  the  family  shame; 
And  ever  in  her  eyes  the  dumb  reproach 
Of  him  who  stayed,  her  younger  Esau,  robbed 
Of  wealth,  career,  and  boyhood's  happy  hours. 

"A  year  went  by.    A  child  was  born,  but  died 
At  four  days  old,  the  prettiest  little  thing, 
The  only  grandchild  mother's  house  had  known. 
Within  the  chapel  Henry  sat  by  me — 
For  grief  that  moment  drew  our  minds  together — 
Sole,  lonely  mourners.     Till  the  sexton  came 
Against  his  heart  the  little  coffin  lay. 
That  was  the  only  time  in  all  his  life 
Those  hands  held  son  of  his;  and  he,  I  know, 
Thought  much  of  children.     Winter  came  again; 
And  darker  yet  the  shade  of  death  returned 
For  my  doomed  sister,  yet,  disguised,  it  long 
Left  hope  alive;  and  bitterly  Henry  thought 
How  wasted  wealth  that  either  might  have  owned, 
When  life  hung  wavering  in  the  doubtful  scale 
Perhaps  had  saved  her;  but  I  think  not  so 
Nor  lay  her  death  on  Wellman's  burdened  soul. 
Her  heart  was  brave,  and  like  a  saint  she  died. 

"Three  hours   past  midnight   from  the  door   I 

stepped ; 

'Twas  bitter  cold,  keen  stars  and  twinkling  frost. 
All  life  seemed  exiled  from  the  frozen  fields. 
A  something  dead,  a  living  force  of  death, 


18  JORDAN  FARMS 

Gripped  face  and  bosom.     Hollow  underfoot 
Like  ancient  coffins  crunched  the  crusted  snow; 
And  sidelong  through  a  distant  window  glowed 
The  dreary  lamp  that  watched  a  passing  soul. 
Then  some  one  came  and  whispered,  'All  is  over'; 
And  in  I  went,  and  found  my  sister's  hand 
Clasped  in  her  husband's,  but  between  the  two 
The  Mystery  old  as  Eve.     Above  her  closed 
The  grave,  and  from  her  burial  we  returned 
To  that  still  house  and  evening's  silent  meal. 

"Two  hollow,  aching  hearts  where  each  might 

fill 

The  other's  void,  and  bound  with  common  grief, 
We  parted  late  that  night.     The  silvering  moon 
Made  rugged  cliffs  loom  bland  and  beautiful. 
So  grief  that  hour  transformed  and  mellowed  him. 
He  pressed  my  hand  and  whispered,  'Come  again, 
Come  often  now.     Hester,  good-night,  good-night/ 
Often  I  came;  and  often  near  my  door 
He  filled  her  chair  among  the  lily  leaves 
At  first.    Then  sorrow  waned  and  life  renewed, 
Life  with  one  task  for  him  and  one  for  me. 
Young  grasses  peeped  on  Ellen's  grave ;  and  over 
Dead  grief  and  hope  grew  cares  of  everyday. 

"I  laid  my  flowers  to-day  on  Ellen's  mound, 
And  half  on  his,  sighing  in  that  still  plot 
Of  ancient  memories,  over  withered  dreams 


JORDAN  FARMS  19 

Of  girlhood's  glad,  undisillusioned  dawn; 
The  poor,  forgotten  farmer's  wife,  the  low, 
Unheeded  grave  of  him  who  all  those  years 
Had  looked  on  life  with  brave,  clear,  open  eyes, 
To  find  its  hidden  wealth  and  share  with  me. 
But  God  knows  worth,  however  men  forget." 


C.     WHAT  I  LEARNED  FROM  JUDGE 
WEYBURNE 

Lonely  but  lovely,  ridged  and  rent  by  streams, 
'Mid  shoaling  verdure,  ever  changing  bloom, 
And  gemmed  with  lakes,  that  little  town  unrolls 
Whereof  I  tell.     With  nature's  hush  enamoured, 
Retired  from  courts,  Judge  Weyburne  here  grows 

old 

Among  the  scenes  from  which  his  boyhood  climbed. 
And  underneath  his  elms,  or  cool  within 
His  deep  verandah  hung  with  rustling  vines, 
Through  which  I  often  thought  a  phantom  past 
Moved  while  he  spoke,  he  told  me  all  he  knew 
Of  Jordan  Farms.    His  voice  was  like  the  leaves 
At  times,  a  rustling  sorrow  for  the  dead. 

"Last  night  so  sweetly  untranslatable 
The    brook    flowed    talking    through    the    bygone 

years, 

It  washed  my  thoughts  by  memories  old  and  sad 
In  Wellman's  life,  that,  wrecking  hopes  of  friends, 
Trod  selfish  joy's  familiar,  time-worn  road 
To  fraud  and  public  shame,  till  grief  and  care 
His  life  had  caused  broke  her  who  loved  him  down. 
Long  years  of  sickness  fell  on  Jordan  Farms. 
Henry's  last  hope  of  college,  friends,  career, 


JORDAN  FARMS  21 

Such  feeble  hope  as  Wellman's  waste  had  left, 

Died  out  in  eyes  that  watched  a  mother's  bed; 

Died  out  in  ears  the  doctor's  warning  filled: 

'Her  broken  mind  clings  round  her  home  of  years ; 

If  torn  away  her  tottering  reason  goes'; 

And  groaning  out  of  life's  great  hope  resigned, 

The  son  on  whom  the  load  had  fallen — stayed. 

"Now   when   he   weighed   his    future,    prisoned 

here, 

A  Tennyson's  Ulysses,  only  bound 
Forever  on  his  little  Ithaca, 
Forever  watching  from  his  vine-clad  porch 
Man's  far-off  knowledge  like  a  setting  star, 
Forever  hearing  in  his  ear  the  moan 
Of  western  seas  no  bark  of  his  might  sail, — 
Chained  down  for  life  at  all  he  least  could  do, — 
If  then  at  midnight,  tired  and  wronged,  he  heard 
A  late  returning  reveler  drive  below, 
Unharness,  fume,  and  reeling  climb  the  stair, 
I'll  not  condemn  his  wrath.     But  household  grief 
And  alienated  friends  uniting,  caused 
That  elder  prodigal's  willing  exile  soon, 
His  burden  dropped  for  other  lives  to  bear. 

"Years  Wellman  roamed,  as  once  in  earlier  days, 
Far  from  New  England;  other  friends  he  gained, 
Flattered  and  fleeced  and  lost;  and  might  be  dead 
For  all  that  those  he  left  behind  him  heard. 


22  JORDAN  FARMS 

"Meanwhile  his  nephew's  married  life,  that  pure, 
Uplifting  force,  keen  contrast  with  his  own, 
Was  closed  by  death.     But  still  the  work  went  on 
Begun  by  woman's  hand,  though  cold  the  hand. 
His  wedded  days  had  opened  wide  for  him 
An  unread  volume,  gently,  gravely  sweet, 
In  life's  long  series.     Still  with  tear-dimmed  eyes 
In  silent  hours  of  evening  he  could  con 
That  revelation,  though  the  gentle  hand 
That  gave  it  first  no  more  could  turn  the  page. 
Some  months  perhaps  he  gazed  with  breaking  heart 
On  empty  cloak  or  chair;  but  healing  time 
Poured  balm  on  that,  and  round  them  wove  a  world 
Of  tender  musings,  holy  memories. 
Still  from  his  album  spoke  her  buried  face. 
Her  thoughts  moved  still,  awakening  in  his  brain 
From  bygone  words  he  now  had  time  to  weigh. 
And  so  the  years  went  by  like  drifting  clouds. 

"Then,  old  before  her  time,  his  mother  died, 
Leaving  her  little  that  remained  to  him. 
And  strangely  soon  her  death  drew  Wellman  home. 
His  vulture  nostril  sniffed  the  dead,  and  hoped 
Some  legacy.     New  friends  had  found  him  out, 
And  driven  the  hunted  fox  to  seek  his  den. 
Now,  too,  the  only  home  his  waste  had  left 
Was  that  wild,  wind-swept  tract  on  Harmon  hill 
That  years  ago  his  wife  had  deeded  him, 
Not  his  to  sell,  but  his  for  life  to  use. 


JORDAN  FARMS  23 

There  on  his  eyrie  perched  the  bird  of  prey; 
For  folly  and  fate  and  wrong  before  his  birth 
Had  made  him  that,  a  helpless,  hungering  thing, 
To  guard  against  through  life,  and  pity  dead. 
That  presence  woke  in  Henry's  days  a  mood 
He  hoped  outgrown,  bickering  and  sordid  care, 
The  kind  man's  wrath  at  being  roused  to  wrath, 
Marring  with  rage  calm  hours  of  thought  and  love, 
As  bitter  boyhood  marred.     He  told  me  once 
How  first  they  met  after  those  years  between. 

"It  was  an  evening  hour  in  harvest  time. 
And  Henry  down  among  the  marshy  swales 
And  bottomlands  was  mowing,  tired  with  toil, 
But  calm  at  heart,  at  peace  with  God  and  man. 
No  sound  was  there  but  the  soft  swish  his  scythe 
Made,  shearing  through  the  deep  marsh  grass,  no 

stir 

But  those  same  grasses,  waving  dreamily 
In  winds  of  coming  night.     Earth  seemed  as  if 
It  had  forgotten  ages  long  ago 
Man  and  the  works  of  man.     In  such  an  hour 
May  souls  win  searoom  to  put  forth  and  sail, 
Free  from  the  storms  of  passion,  where  no  thoughts 
Of  other  minds,  like  rocks  protruding,  threat 
The  fleet  and  fragile  dream.     On  Henry  stole, 
As  many  a  time  before,  the  spell.     Just  then 
A  misty  form  by  pool  and  alder-clump 
More  near  and  near  approached.    At  first  it  seemed 


24  JORDAN  FARMS 

A  phantom  stolen  from  his  thoughts,  or  sent 
From  night's  dim  bound;  but  soon  a  face  appeared, 
Then  mockery,  and  the  earthling's  evil  mood; 
And  frowning  front  to  front  the  kinsmen  met. 

"Quick  challenge  there  and  sneering,  bold  reply, 
Touched  rumored  insult  done  the  newly  dead, 
That  now  was  owned  as  true.     In  western  lands, 
The  hour  death  freed  him,  Wellman  wooed  and 

won, 

With  lies  that  hid  the  truth  from  her,  a  wife 
Too  good  for  him  to  nurse  and  feed  his  age; 
Child  too  of  one  whom  Henry's  father  loved, 
A  cousin  lost  on  western  prairies,  dead, 
And  long  not  heard  from.     'So  your  sweet,  mild 

blood, 

In  one  your  cousin  though  no  blood  of  mine, 
May  soothe  my  evenings.'     Wellman  sneered  and 

went, 
Dwindling  through  haze;  and  seemed  in  Henry's 

eye 

A  great  brown  spider  crawling  down  its  web 
To  a  new  fly,  a  victim  near  and  dear, 
Whom    dead   men's    voices    bade   him    watch    and 

guard. 

"Good  cause  for  fear  was  there.     If  ever  wife 
Through  loving  heart  and  undiscerning  eye 
By  very  virtues  might  make  Wellman  worse, 


JORDAN  FARMS  25 

That  wife  ill  fortune  gave.     But  what  she  told, 
And  he  denied  not,  of  their  life  together 
On  Harmon  hill,  must  damn  him.    Far  from  towns, 
High  up  with  howling  winds  in  winter's  teeth, 
The  only  road  that  through  ravine  and  wood 
Sought  out  their  home  banked  fathom  deep  with 

snow, 

No  man  nor  woman  in  the  house  but  them, 
No  neighbor  but  the  stars  and  wailing  night, 
She  lay  there  at  his  mercy,  helpless  heard 
That  sly,  edged  malice,  armed  with  wit,  or  saw 
The  Circe  cup  poured  out,  the  man  turned  brute, 
The  brute  turned  savage,  and  her  home  his  den. 

"On  such  a  night,  when  every  breath  of  air 
Was   barbed   with   cold   and   thick   with   whirling 

snow, 

One  knocked  on  Henry's  door.     He  opening  saw 
His  uncle's  wife,  her  little  son  on  arm, 
On  those  chill  doorstones,  wrapped  in  shawls  that 

gleamed 

With  tags  of  ice,  like  corpses  both  from  cold. 
She  entered  reeling,  blown  by  entering  wind, 
Then  faced  her  host.    Snowflakes  were  in  her  hair, 
And  prayer  and  wrath  and  anguish  in  her  eyes. 

'  'I  come  to  you,'  she  said,  'a  friendless  woman, 
Find  none  save  you  who,  kindred  even  in  law, 
Might  hear  my  husband's  deed  this  evening  told, 


26  JORDAN  FARMS 

And  give  me  help.'     Half  fainting  here  she  sank. 

And  Henry  made  the  fire  roar  up  the  flue, 

Gave  her  warm  drinks  and  wraps,  and  played  the 

nurse, 
With   still,   white   lips   and   eyes   that   shone   like 

knives. 

"Hours   passed,  and  through  the  storm  a  man 

rode  down, 

Mad  with  debauchery  and  the  night's  wild  spell. 
As  midnight  struck  he  knocked  on  Henry's  door. 
Then  the  pale  wife  between  the  drowsing  fire 
And  drowsing  women  called  to  watch  with  her, 
Started  from  slumber,  heard  against  the  pane 
The  beating  of  the  spruce's  wind-blown  boughs 
Like  cold,  insistent  fingers  gloved  with  snow, 
And  close  without  two  voices,  one  that  called 
For  entrance  like  the  rapping  twigs,  and  seemed 
Like  them  inhuman  cold,  yet  wildly  whirled 
In  vortices  of  tempest;  then  the  other 
Made  answer  curt  and  stern  as  ringing  iron. 
The  sterner  voice  prevailed;  the  other  mixed 
With  howling  gusts  through  distance,  drowned  in 

rasp 

Of  closing  doors  and  bolts  that  shot  in  place. 
She  drew  the  curtain.     Through  the  grizzly  whirl 
Moved  a  gray  form  that  seemed  a  moving  drift 
Out  of  the  light,  and  out  of  her  life  forever. 


JORDAN  FARMS  27 

"That  other  entering  softly  roused  the  fire, 
Gently  and  gravely  bade  his  guest  good-night, 
And  late  alone  sat  near  the  flames,  that  lit 
A  strangely  tranquil  face,  in  steely  calm, 
Calm  as  the  sword  that  slays  and  quivers  not; 
Calm    from    the    strong    man's    joy    in    righteous 

wrath, 

When  mercy  leagues  with  all  it  fought  before. 
In  such  a  mood  he  summoned  law  to  part 
Whom    man    had    joined    and    God    had    willed 

asunder, 

Inexorable  as  fate,  while  safe  through  him 
A  pallid  woman  shunned  the  world  and  mourned. 

"And   Wellman's    wife    divorced   him,    bringing 

home — 

To  childhood's  door,  the  door  she  left  as  bride — 
A  helpless  child  and  broken  heart  to  show 
What   marriage   gave   her.      God,   we   say,   knows 

best; 

But  I  could  weep  for  all  the  happy  lives 
That  might  have  been  had  Wellman  never  lived, 
And  weep  for  him  among  his  victims  too. 

"Within  a  month  a  poor,  unlettered  girl, 
Who  posed  as  wife  and  might  or  might  not  be, 
Called  from  some  past  none  knew  of,  shared  his 

home, 
And  shared  his  night  of  life  that  darkened  now. 


28  JORDAN  FARMS 

For  on  that  lonely  hill  with  none  but  her, 
Save  some  chance  workman  in  the  fields  by  day, 
Depraved  with  drink  and  greed,  by  solitude 
Walled  off  from  friendship's  humanizing  sun, 
What  moods  he  sounded  none  shall  ever  know. 

"Sometimes    we    saw    him    like    his    manhood's 

ghost, 

Pale,  sunken  cheek  and  gray,  disheveled  hair, 
And  cold  blue  eye  with  glint  of  opium  dreams, 
Glide  still  by  former  friends,  or  watch  for  hours, 
With  thoughts  he  never  told,  his  boyhood's  home. 

"And   once   when   sickness   called,   up   Harmon 

hill 

With  Hester  Ormond,  then  a  bride,  I  rode 
Through  landscape  lovely  as  my  words  are  sad. 
Above  the  peaks  of  all  the  region  round, 
Wild,  rocky  crest  and  skyward  heaving  wood, 
Cleared  round  the  summit,  like  a  dome  it  rolls, 
With  billowy  pasture  and  smooth  meadow,  swept 
By  winds  before  unbroken  many  a  mile. 
Men  say  that  from  its  top  when  air  is  clear 
They  see  the  distant  Sound  like  shining  haze 
Past  ridge  on  ridge  of  dim  blue  hills,  that  seem 
To  melt  and  mingle  with  the  sea  and  sky. 

"The  house  is  low  and  small,  in  open  sun 
On  east  and  south,  with  apple-trees  behind; 


JORDAN  FARMS  39 

But  north  a  tall,  dense  hedge  of  hemlocks  gives 
A  touch  of  wild  and  somber  beauty,  dark 
As  evil  and  mysterious  as  the  dead. 

"Here  Wellman,  wandering  in  delirium,  lay. 
And  Hester  watched  that  day,  and  I  in  turn 
That  night,  a  glorious  night  of  harvest  moon. 
As  midnight  neared  the  pillowed  face  began, 
In  strange,  coherent,  lucid  lunacy, 
A  story  never  meant  for  me.     He  told 
How  Henry  slowly  after  Ellen's  death — 
Slowly,  her  memory  held  him  back  for  years — 
Turned  toward  the  sister,  might  have  married  her 
In  middle  age  and  love's  mild  afterglow. 
Then  friends  departing  called  her  far  away; 
And  letters  passed  that  fell  in  Wellman' s  hand, 
And  went  no  further.     Hurt  and  far  from  home, 
She  waited  long,  then  married  one  most  kind, 
But  not  her  choice,  and  wore  her  bridal  veil 
As  mournful  mark  of  love's  negation  now, 
Not  love's  new  dawn.    I  thought  the  speaker  raved, 
Till,  pointing  me  with  bony  hand,  he  showed 
The  very  drawer  wherein  the  letters  lay. 
I  found  and  brought  them,  proof  of  all  he  said, 
Each  old  envelope  like  a  coffin  holding 
Chill  outer  form  where  once  a  hope  had  lived. 
What  made  him  do  it?    Spite  or  jealousy; 
Sheer  will's  perversion  wrought  by  dissolute  years ; 
Or  hope  of  aid  from  one  who,  kind  to  him, 


30  JORDAN  FARMS 

Thus  married  wealth  and  so  might  help  him  more? 
I  asked  him  there;  but  through  delirium's  wall 
No  question  pierced,  no  answer  ever  came, 
Or  ever  will.     In  that  bare,  dismal  room, 
With  lamp  turned  down,  while  on  the  roof  above 
Moved  whispering  boughs,   and   moonlight   robed 

the  world, 

'Twas  eerie,  half  unearthly  all  alone 
To  hear  him  talk  to  none  who  heard  him.     Once 
He  rose  among  the  bedclothes,  crying  at  me, 
'I  fooled  you,  lovers !'     and  the  aureoled  heaven 
Through  broken  pane  and  sagging  casement  lit 
That  wild,  gaunt,  mocking  face.     And  then  again 
In  changing  mood  he  seemed  to  feel  remorse, 
Till  all  was  lost  in  aimless  babbling,  talk 
Of  college  days  with  wealthier  mates  than  he, 
Vain  hopes,  and  money  this  one  owed  by  rights, 
And  house  and  lands  another  robbed  him  of. 
I  once  told  Henry  what  that  night  revealed; 
But  Hester  knows  not  yet,  and  hours  next  day 
Watched  there  in  pitying  kindness,  on  her  left 
The  old  locked  drawer  with  letters  tragic  now, 
And  on  her  right  the  man  who  marred  her  life. 

"He  drowned  that  winter,  drowned  before  my 

eyes. 

With  sad,  foreboding  heart  in  afternoon 
I  drove  along  the  lake,  whose  frozen  face 
That  hour  was  empty.     I  remember  well 


JORDAN  FARMS  31 

To  my  town  eyes  how  desolate  seemed  the  scene. 
For  thaws  that  followed  storms  made  puddled  ice 
All  pied  with  slush  and  snow,  and  draggled  woods 
On  melting  snowbanks  dripped  disconsolately. 

"Then  Henry  came  beyond  a  little  cove 
That  laid  between  a  treacherous  frozen  floor, 
Feeding  his  cattle,  and  Wellman  through  the  fields 
Rounding   the   lake's    curved  margin,   joined   him 

there. 

I  reined  my  pony  wondering  what  might  be. 
Across  the  pool  the  lonely  landscape  framed 
A  leering  haystack,  ugly,  squat,  and  brown, 
'Mid  shaggy  steers,  and  those  two  muffled  forms 
That  filled  the  foreground  seemed  as  bleak  and 

stern. 

A  long  hill-meadow  joined  the  land  of  both, 
That    Wellman    claimed    but    Henry    owned    and 

mowed 

Always;  it  cost  them  bitter  words  before. 
Brokenly  and  confusedly  from  far 
I  heard  that  mentioned.     High  their  voices  rose, 
And  each  called  back  in  parting  sounds  I  lost. 

"That  angry  hour  made  Wellman  rash  and  blind. 
With  face  turned  backward,  toward  the  sleigh  he 

came 
Across  the  ice,  that  on  a  day  like  this 


32  JORDAN  FARMS 

Was   death's   own  trap, — and   broke   so   near   the 

bank 

He  could  not  save  himself  though  others  might. 
I  saw  and  ran,  slipped,  fell,  and  rose  and  ran, 
And  knew  it  vain,  but  saw  that  fatal  cry 
Reached  Henry's  ear.     One  moment  fixed  he  stood 
In  doubt  or  dying  wrath,  then  down  the  shore, 
Hurrying  and  white  and  risking  life,  he  came. 
The  ice  broke  through  with  him,  but  'twas  in  shoal, 
He  yet  might  save, — when  some  old,  gnarled  root 
Deep  under  water  caught  his  foot  and  held. 
Wildly  he  wrestled  with  the  claw  that  gripped, 
But  all  in  vain,  and  soon  he  knew  it  vain. 
The  water  bubbled  near,  and  that  grim  sky 
Looked  down  unmoved,  till  on  the  bank  we  stood, 
Where  neighbors  near  us  round  a  prostrate  form 
Talked    in    low    tones,    and    one    was    answering, 

'dead.' 

I  saw  on  Henry's  face  a  mournful  frown 
Pass  by  and  die  away.     With  forehead  bowed, 
And  frame  that  seemed  to  drop  a  lifelong  load 
In  one  great  hour,  he  whispered  as  in  prayer: 
'I  would  have  saved  him,  God,  but  better  so; 
Far  better  so  for  dead  and  living  both.' 
For  years  I  heard  that  whisper,  hear  it  now. 

"That  day,   in  doubt  if  Wellman's   mate   were 

wife, 
We  asked  his  nephew,  being  next  of  kin, 


JORDAN  FARMS  33 

'Where  shall  we  bury  him?'     'Anywhere/  he  said; 
'Close  at  my  mother's  feet,  if  so  you  will, 
To  ask  her  pardon;  or  far  as  strangers  lie. 
But  bury  him  honorably,  leaving  room  for  me 
By  Ellen's  mound.'     Then  some  one  said,  'Whom 

life 

Divided  let  the  grave  divide  in  death/ 
And  bade  us  dig  beside  that  willow  tree. 
But  while  the  sexton  worked  a  cousin  came; — 
She  died  herself  next  year;  she  always  held 
That  Wellman  was  a  brand  men  failed  to  pluck 
From  burning  at  due  time.     'I'll  have  no  gulf 
Divide  my  cousin  from  his  family  dust/ 
She  said;  'fill  up  that  pit  and  dig  again. 
Eternity  is  long;  in  all  that  time 
The  man  who  here  abased  his  life  might  lift  it; 
And  these  two  streams  that  from  one  fountain  ran 
In  the  great  sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire 
Might  flow  together.'     So  we  dug  again, 
In  that  still  place  where  yesterday  I  stood; 
Where  age,  deep  reading  hearts,  and  back  of  them 
What    made    those    hearts    ere    they    could    mold 

themselves, 

Finds  many  a  fierce  illusion  melt  away; 
Where  pitying  lips  that  once  condemned  recant. 
And  there  by  wife  and  stepson  Wellman  lies, 
According  to  old  faith,  which  I  believe, 
Till  the  last  trump  shall  summon.    Ample  time 
Will  they  have  there  to  grow  more  reconciled." 


PART  TWO 

THE  BUILDER  BEHIND  THE  WASTER 

Therefore  I*  summon  age 
To  grant  youth's  heritage, 

Life's  struggle  having  so  far  reached  its  term: 
Thence  shall  I  pass,  approved 
A  man,  for  aye  removed 

From  the  developed  brute;  a  God  though  in  the  germ. 
Browning's  Rabbi  Ben  Ezra. 

The  sulphurous  rifts  of  passion  and  woe 
Lie  deep  'neath  a  silence  pure  and  smooth, 
Like  burnt-out  craters  healed  with  snow. 

Lowell's   Vision  of  Sir  Launfal 


D.     WHAT  I  LEARNED  FROM  PROFESSOR 
MILNER 

"Look  there  along  my  finger.     Mile  on  mile 
Through  parted  hills  the  curling  river  rolls. 
The  lovelier  that  they  run  not  where  they  chose 
But  where  they  could,  the  giant  spirals  gleam, 
Like  some  great  poet's  thought,  that  urging  long, 
And  hearing  far  beyond  the  summoning  sea, 
Broke  out  a  way  through  language.      Ten  miles 

north, 

With  foot  in  stream  and  windy  head,  that  height, 
As  I  remember,  looks  down  on  Jordan  Farms, 
The  quaint  old  homestead;  lanes   and  weathered 

walls, 

And  ancient  well-sweep,  and  gnarled  cherry-trees 
That  blossomed  white  in  April.     Henry  dead — 
His  well  and  words  beneath  the  cherry  bough 
Were  welcome  both.     The  past  lived  here  in  him. 

"Thought,    faith,    and    commerce    found    their 

channel  once 
Through  these  hill  towns,  that  life's  withdrawing 

flood 

Leaves  only  stagnant  pools.     His  type  is  fading, 
Forever  dwindling,  drifting  townward  ever, 
Where  once  'twas  common:  self-taught  rural  sons 


38  JORDAN  FARMS 

Of  those  grave,  old-time  farmer  Puritans, 

Who    plowed    and    hewed    and    sharpened    tools 

beneath 

The  grand,  grave  shadow  of  the  eternal  world, 
By  swath  and  dairy  weighed  God's  law  and  man's. 

"Just  one  and  twenty  years  it  is  to-night 
Since  first  I  trod  this  valley.     Here  I  came 
With  gaunt  old  Veering,  searching  cliff  and  stream, 
And  shells  and  strata,  where  they  dumbly  told 
Of  rocks  upheaved  in  some  dim  dawn  of  time. 
And  searching  so  we  came  by  Jordan  Farms. 
Then  Henry,  glad  to  quaff  a  scholar's  lore, 
And  roam  the  fields,  for  days  was  host  and  guide. 
I  see  him  yet  against  the  morning  sun 
And  dewy  pastures,  walking  paths  with  me; 
Now  pointing  where  the  far-off  fissures  ran 
Of  earthquakes  ages  old,  and  rivers  wound; 
Now  urging  us  under  a  burning  sun 
To  raid  his  orchard,  saying  pears  were  here, 
And  apples  there,  and  cherry  and  plum  beyond. 
So  Veering  studied  cliffs,  and  I  our  guide, 
A  soul  like  Adirondack  mountains,  worn 
Through  bygone  storms  in  unremembered  years; 
High  spires,  where  once  the  cloud  for  pennon  flew, 
Pared  halfway  down  to  plain,  but  massive  still. 

"One  day  far  off  on  Harmon  hill  he  mowed 
When  letters  came;  and  lured  by  highland  air, 


JORDAN  FARMS  39 

Whose  vagrant  breezes  down  our  valleys  blew 

Through  wilted  fields,  I  rode  with  them  to  him. 

Topping  a  hill  almost  a  mountain  lay 

That  airy  meadow,  high  and  far  from  man 

On  the  lone,  houseless  peak,  where  bush  and  twig 

Shook  evermore  in  wind.    Below  I  viewed 

Rough  range,  green  valley,  crinkling  brook;  and 

gray 

O'er  field  and  spire  a  muttering  storm  drove  on. 
So  dark  it  neared  I  sought  the  gaunt  old  barn, 
Whose  huge  gray  doors  hung  wide,  and  windy  sill 
Looked  eagle-like  for  many  a  league  below. 
Just  as  I  mused,  'So  near  the  floors  of  God 
Romance  might  walk  with  toil/  I  heard  behind 
Gruff  teamster's  shout  and  snapping  thong;   and 

then 

Between  the  doors  a  yoke  of  oxen  plunged, 
With  rocking  horns,  the  piled-up  hay  behind 
Reeling  and  yawing  like  a  ship  at  sea. 
Even  as  they  came  the  storm  above  them  broke, 
Lashing  the  shingles  loud  as  giant  knouts, 
And  wrapping  earth  in  scurrying  veils  of  gray. 
A  voice  I  knew  rose  through  the  patter  and  whirl; 
And  in  the  door,  hatless,  with  wind-blown  hair, 
Stood  Henry  Jordan,  framed  in  crackling  clouds. 
Above  the  maple  shook  and  thunder  rang. 
Behind  in  drowsy  undertone  we  heard 
The  oxen  munch  the  mows.    The  wild  fresh  air 
Flowed  by  without,  the  clover  scent  within; 


40  JORDAN  FARMS 

And  loud  o'erhead  through  beam   and  board   re 
sounded 
The  wind's  huzza  and  drops  in  rhythmic  dance. 

"By  lightning  gleams  he  read  his  letters  through. 
And  not  more   strangely  moved  have  households 

heard 

A  broken  clock  none  thought  to  hear  again 
Striking  beneath  a  ghostly  hand.     In  rain, 
Scarce  heeding  where  he  drove,  he  rode  away ; 
And  half  that  night  men  heard  him  pace  his  room, 
Talking  at  times  to  empty  air,  till  pale, 
With  hollow,  haunted  eyes,  he  came  at  dawn. 
'My  uncle's  one  time  wife  has  died,'  he  said, 
'In  poverty,  friends  dead  and  helpers  gone. 
The  world's  cold  charity  has  lodged  her  son 
In  this  rich  orphanage  that  writes  me  now, 
Demanding  aid.     I  promise  nothing  yet, 
But  come  with  me  and  see  the  youngster's  face.' 

"All  day  we  journeyed,  first  by  woodland  roads, 
Where  crowding  bushes   washed   our  brows   with 

dew, 

And  then  by  train.     Silent  with  hat  drawn  down 
Sat  Henry,  hardly  hearing  words  I  said. 
And  billowy  meadows  and  the  echoing  hills, 
And  rivers  flashing  sunlight,  and  the  rest, 
Fled  by  unseen.     But  when  our  journey  closed 
Beneath  the  great  foundation's  door,  where  wealth 


JORDAN  FARMS  41 

From  toil  or  sin  of  generations  gone 
Now  housed  the  orphan  poor,  he  suddenly  paused, 
Conning  these  words  that  lined  the  cornerstone: 
FOR  ORPHAN  CHILDREN,  BUILT  BY  AARON  DANE. 
'And  think/  he  said,  'his  treasure  might  have  built 
Rich  tombstones  for  the  dead  who  need  them  not, 
Need  nothing  now  on  earth  from  him  or  me. 
What  better  use  could  I  have  found  ?    Through  me, 
Not  mine  but  held  in  trust  for  dead  of  mine, 
Its  later  channel  must  have  poured  it  here. 
The  deed  was  child  of  one  who  wronged  me ;  yet — 
God  willed  it  good,  it  bears  no  taint  of  him.' 
I  saw  no  point  in  what  he  said;  he  seemed 
Conversing  rather  with  himself  than  me. 

"But  when  his  infant  cousin  crowned  his  knees 
The  man  grew  changed,  tender  yet  warily  fierce, 
In  wavering  doubt,  as  one  might  think  the  Moor 
Eyed  Desdemona  when  he  hoped  her  true. 
Above  those  azure  orbs  he  bent  his  own, 
As  if  he  waved  a  torch  behind  that  door 
Of  thought's  dim  cave  and  asked  who  dwelt  within. 
Then  close  to  either  infant  cheek  he  held 
A  childish  portrait  near  the  lad's  in  age; 
I've  seen  one  since;  'twas  Wellman  when  at  school. 
Now  on  the  painted  boy,  now  on  the  living, 
Now   on   that   sweet   young   face   where   girlhood 

seemed 
With  parted  lips  to  wait  life's  blessing,  gazed 


42  JORDAN  FARMS 

The  tense,  dark  eyes  that  seemed  to  strain  and 

burn. 

Then  up  he  rose  and  clasped  the  trembling  lad. 
'I  think  he  is  his  mother's  child/  he  said, 
'And  therefore  henceforth  mine.'     That  very  night 
We  took  the  boy  with  us  and  journeyed  home. 

"Through  long,  dull,  drowsy  hours  the  rushing 

train 

Piled  mile  on  mile;  and  soon  on  Henry's  breast 
The  weary  boy  had  sobbed  himself  to  sleep. 
As  sea-gulls  nest  beneath  the  sheltering  ledge 
Of  ocean's  cliff,  the  curly  head  lay  safe 
Under  the  gaunt,  broad  shoulder;  and  above 
Two  eyes  looked  down  on  him  like  ocean's  deep, 
Soft,     fathomless,    but    revealing    through    their 

gleam 

Hints  of  old  wrecks  and  woes  the  waves  had  hid. 
Sometimes  on  craggy  heights  the  moonbeams  fell, 
On  shining  lake  and  swiftly  sliding  tree. 
Sometimes  beside  us  like  a  phantom  train 
Our  own  reflection  rolled.     I  winked  and  drowsed; 
But  still  in  waking  saw  the  slumbering  boy, 
And  those  deep  eyes  that  watched  him  as  he  slept. 

"So  God's  good  angel  entered  Henry's  home 
In  likeness  of  a  little  child,  and  drove 
The  lingering  shadow  from  his  lonely  days. 


JORDAN  FARMS  43 

"For  many  a  summer  after  that  we  met, 
By  woodland  lane  or  meadow  heaped  with  hay 
In  hours  of  toil.     Or  under  arching  elms 
He  leisurely  conned  some  volume,  his  or  mine, 
And  puffed  from  tranquil  pipe  the  filmy  wreaths 
He  watched  in  thinking,  counting  himself  alone 
With  God  and  ancient  solitude.     But  when 
My  step  rang  near  him,  down  the  book  would  fall 
On  turf  or  moss,  and  out  his  comment  came, 
Keen  nature's  challenge  to  my  greater  lore. 
Then  we  below  would  argue,  and  above 
The  chattering  squirrels  argued,  and  the  wind 
Blew  lazily  through  the  leaves  and  waving  grass. 
Or  where  some  highland  river's  curling  sweep 
Had  mined  the  bones  of  ancient  Indian  braves, 
He  told  the  legends  of  his  township,  lives 
Of  early  settlers,  thrilling,  often  sad, 
Of  feathered  chiefs  whose  moccasins  had  brushed 
Through   dew   and  blood   there   in   old  woodland 

wars; 
And  weighed  with  me  the  rights  and  wrongs  of 

deeds 
Awful  to  think  of  in  that  forest  dusk. 

"Warm  friends  were  his;  and  one  in  widow's 
veil, — 

When  Marshall,  Wellman's  child,  neared  man 
hood, — came 

To  make  her  birthplace  home,  near  woodland  mills 


44  JORDAN  FARMS 

That,  once  her  husband's,  now  were  hers,  and  lay 
In  a  small  valley  rumbling  drowsily. 
Dark  groves  of  hemlock  lined  the  long  ravine, 
Where  often  for  beauty  of  the  scene  we  drove, 
And  the  unpausing  wheels  that  hummed  below 
Waked  thoughts  of  laborers  lost  in  fairyland. 
But  angry  millhands  once  in  drunken  mob 
Endangering  her  and  hers,  we  rode  through  night ; 
Came  none  too  soon;  and  there  my  comrade  spoke, 
Revealing  powers  unguessed  till  then,  and  calmed 
The  angry  crowd  and  sent  them  home  in  shame. 
Relieved  yet  anxious,  still  we  stayed  on  guard; 
But  not  a  whisper  broke  the  calm.     Below  us 
The  long  brown  walls,  like  beings  freed  from  fear, 
Drowsed  in  the  moonbeams,  charmed  by  draping 

elms 

And  crooning  water.    Stars  went  wheeling  down ; 
And  heaven  all  night  declared  the  glory  of  God. 

"What    thoughts    were    hers    whose    rest    we 

guarded  so, 

We  need  not  ask.    But  late  the  following  day, 
Coming  on  her  and  Henry  all  alone 
In  woodland  paths  of  sun-illumined  leaves, 
I  heard  what  I  intended  not,  which  you 
Must  tell  to  none  till  both  are  dead.     Her  voice, 
Gentle  and  pleading,  dwelt  on  Marshall's  name: 
'He  longs  for  college  where  his  future  lies. 
You  cannot  send  him;  I  am  rich;  let  me.' 


JORDAN  FARMS  45 

Then — her  companion  answering,  this  might  be 
As  last  resort,  but  never  even  from  her 
While  hope  was  left  in  what  himself  could  do; 
And  men  might  talk,  and  it  were  wrong  to  rob 
The  dead  man's  child  of  what  he  saved  for  her, 
And    so    his    friends    might    feel    and    blame    the 

mother — 

She  added,  'Once  I  might  have  had  the  power 
To  aid  my  friend's  adopted  son  as  mine, 
Save  for  lost  letters.'     Then  she  murmured  more. 
That  winds  in  foliage  made  inaudible. 
The    pair    grew    silent.      Suddenly    through    the 

gloom 

Deep  in  the  woodland  sang  a  hermit  thrush. 
A  pole  and  shawl  as  meant  for  mast  and  sail 
Drooped  limply  still  above  the  moldering  trunk 
Whereon  they  sat;  and  Henry's  lips  were  saying: 
'Old  age  may  launch  its  boats;  they  never  sail. 
Too  much  for  many  a  year  have  you  and  I 
Been  to  each  other  ever  to  be  less; 
But  frozen  wax  takes  no  new  seal;  we're  old, 
So  old  my  Ellen's  grave  is  sunken  now.' 
And  she  gazed  long  across  the  hills  and  said: 
'Yes,  old  we  are,  cold  wax  formed  long  ago.' 

"I  turned  to  leave  but  broke  a  crackling  bough. 
They  rose  and  called  me,  spoke  of  Marshall  still. 
Drawn  on  by  that,  I  told  what  late  I  found 
At  Jordan  Farms,  and  now  had  come  to  tell, — 


46  JORDAN  FARMS 

A  little  mine,  no  fabled  hoard,  but  such 
As  miser  hills  of  lean  New  England  yield, — 
And  led  them  where  it  lay  beneath  gray  bluffs, 
That,  hard  as  penury,  smiled  in  sunset  then. 

"That  hour  on   Henry's   face  there  gleamed  a 

light, 

As  glowed  the  twilight  down  the  reddening  hill; 
For  there  it  was,  beyond  all  question  true, 
His  little  treasure  of  the  rocks,  his  own, 
The  magic  key  to  open  learning's  door, 
And  give  his  boy  the  chance  himself  had  missed. 
Thereafter  often  through  the  woods,  alone 
Or  timed  to  tools  of  other  men,  I  heard 
His  hammer  tinkling  in  the  dusky  gorge. 
Sometimes  at  night,  for  eager  hearts  work  long, 
It  took  an  eerie  sound,  like  blows  of  trolls; 
And  sociable  and  firm  at  noon  it  rang, 
With  joy  of  opening  worlds  for  one  beloved. 
So    Marshall    learned   what   learning's    guardians 

give, 

Grew  man  and  manly,  nursed  a  leader's  heart, 
We  hope  a  leader's  gift.     Meanwhile  at  home 
The  vein  had  ended,  and  the  hammer  ceased. 
Sumacs  and  vines  with  their  unsightly  veil 
Have  draped  the  pit ;  but  should  I  pass  to-day 
I  should  be  haunted  there  by  thoughts  of  him. 
Weary  but  faithful  many  a  time  he  came 
With  gray  head  bowed,  and  weakening  in  his  age; 


JORDAN  FARMS  47 

And  resting  oftener  than  in  sturdier  years, 
Would  talk  with  me,  each  seated  on  our  stone. 
'Of  good  and  evil  much  we  argued  then/ 
'Of  providence,  foreknowledge,  will,  and  fate/ 
'And  found  no  end,  in  wandering  mazes  lost'; 
Yet  even  as  children  roam  a  wondrous  wood 
Through  paths  to  nowhere  came  back  nobler  men. 
Some  call  him  failure;  some  think  otherwise." 


E.  WHAT  I  LEARNED  FROM  MARSHALL 
JORDAN 

"As  in  a  shadowy,  preexistent  state, 
A  world  of  faded  paintings,  I  remember 
A  city,  clang  of  hoofs  and  roar  of  trains, 
Gaunt,  rumbling  factories,  and  my  mother's  face, 
With  loving  eyes  and  lips  that  never  smiled. 
And  then  no  mother,  strangers  strangely  kind, 
Flowers  on  a  coffin,  and  a  great  new  home, 
A  man  who  frightened  me  with  his  piercing  eyes, 
Then  grew  most  tender,  and  my  journey  here. 

"Too  young  was  I  for  grief  or  terror  long. 
Brought  into  country  beauty  fresh  from  town, 
The  great,  wild  playground  of  the  clouds  and  stars 
Above,  my  own  wide  playground  at  my  feet, 
As  in  a  breath,  while  new  waxed  old,  I  grew 
Child  of  my  guardian  and  his  fields.     We  slept 
Together  in  the  room  he  had  as  boy. 

"Now  seemed  I  fallen  on  enchanted  lands. 
In  dim,  unfleshly,  spirit-haunted  hours 
Of  growing  light  we  saw  through  open  windows 
The  giant  maples  wave  their  boughs,  and  heard 
Their  leaves  like  Memnon  whispering  through  the 
dawn. 


JORDAN  FARMS  49 

Wondrous  as  elves,  alive  in  open  day, 
Bright  colored  birds  perched  on  the  gleaming  sill. 
Nor  lacked  we  phantoms  true  and  terrible, 
When,  dread  as  Grendel,  from  the  marshes  round 
Malaria-breathing  fog  in  wind-blown  forms 
Stalked  down  the  moonlit  fields,  and  through  the 

window 

Thrust  in  an  evil  head  and  clutching  hand. 
For  hours  behind  my  cousin  or  his  men 
I  watched  the  ever  sliding  furrow  fall 
On  bud  and  stubble,  or  through  towering  rye 
His  wheeling  cradle  sling  the  golden  swath. 

"Still  memory  when  I  ride  a  country  road 
Recalls  his  long  forefinger  pointing  out 
With  what  fantastic  poise  on  writhing  roots 
That  yellow  birch  seemed  half  to  grow  in  air; 
How  yonder  range  through  cloven  walls  revealed 
Its  far,  blue  kindred,  or  the  northern  shrike 
Cut  the  loud  wind,  bloody  and  beautiful. 
Like  starfish  floating  in  an  emerald  sea 
The  chestnut  blossoms  lit  the  depths  of  verdure; 
A  painted  harlot  through  her  leafy  screen, 
Beauty  to  gaze  on  and  disease  to  touch, 
The  poison  sumac  peered.     Our  thoughts  beheld 
Mosaic  mountains  from  the  face  of  God 
Bear  down  stone  tables  thunder-scarred  with  laws ; 
Or  cataracts  like  a  gray  historian's  beard 
Half  muffling  voices  out  of  time's  abysm. 


50  JORDAN  FARMS 

My  guardian's  treasured  volumes  hours  I  read 
In  green  enclosures,  where  the  birds  alone 
Kept  twittering  comment,  and  unswaddled  thoughts 
Roamed   books    like    orchards,    plucking   where    I 

would. 

And  still  at  every  pause  the  mighty  ghost 
Of  him  who  wrote  with  lifted  finger  showed 
The  stately  landscape  of  our  restful  hills, 
Woods  on  blue  skylines,  hemlock-bordered  brooks, 
Pink  knolls  in  meadows  where  the  red-top  grew, 
And  oats  half  ripened  turning  silver  gray, 
Till  letters  glowed  and  words  were  wonderland. 

"One  day  while  yet  nor  boy  nor  man,  I  reined 
A  friend's  blood  stallion  down  the  rim  of  streams 
O'erflowed  from  April  freshets,  wildly  running 
In  whirling  loop  or  fierce  and  arrowy  flume. 
Dim  landmarks  loomed  beneath  their  glassy  veil, 
Old  stubble  ridge  and  rut  of  wheel,  and  gleam 
Of  tender  grass  like  emerald.     Then  I  saw 
A  little  maiden  on  a  new-made  isle, 
Marooned  beyond  a  footbridge  washed  away. 
She  called;  wild  arbutus  was  in  her  hair, 
And  prayer  and  hope  and  terror  in  her  eyes. 
Through   waves   in   which   the   trampling   stallion 

seemed 

An  Aucassin's  I  brought  her  safe  ashore. 
Not  wholly  stranger  was  she;  with  my  cousin 


JORDAN  FARMS  51 

Schoolmate  and  playmate  had  her  mother  been, 
And  friend  for  many  a  year.     The  maid  herself 
Had  been  to  me  a  face  and  name,  no  more. 
But  first  her  helpless,  quick  appeal  for  help, 
And  then  the  added  dignity  she  donned 
As  recompense  for  dignity  forgot, 
So  much  of  woman  in  a  child  so  young, 
Wrought  on  me  now.     I  verily  believe 
That  in  that  hour  the  tendrils  of  her  life 
Began  to  twine  round  mine,  though  far  away 
Loomed  still  the  hour  when  either  thought  of  that. 
For  long  she  seemed  but  as  a  pet  to  me, 
Mere  child  when  I  was  man.    Yet  even  then 
Would  visioned  faces,  though  they  were  not  hers, 
Take  on  her  likeness ;  and  through  hours  of  night 
The  ever  rushing  brooks  did  musically 
Repeat  the  name  she  bore,  though  not  as  hers, 
But  love's;  while  rosy  gleams  that  haunted  long 
Untrodden  realms  of  cloudland,  earthward  steal 
ing. 

Grew  part  of  everyday.     So  years  went  by; 
And  child  grew  woman,  playmate  grew  beloved, 
Before  we  knew;  but  yet  no  pledge  was  ours. 
The  daisy  chased  the  violet  from  our  path; 
Grave  asters  chased  the  daisies;  tingling  frost 
With  icy  pendants  hung  the  glittering  wood; 
Yet  we  confessed  not  to  our  inmost  hearts; 
And  four  long  college  years  rolled  in  between. 


53  JORDAN  FARMS 

"And  now  my  one-and-twentieth  birthday's  eve 
Heard  manhood's  ocean  break  on  childhood's  shore, 
Where  the  tall  ships  that  leave  the  land  behind 
Through  the  dim  distance,  winged  with  mystery, 

sail. 

I  locked  my  door,  and  in  my  room  alone 
Heard  the  sad  drizzle  drip  from  eave  and  elm, 
And  voices  from  the  future,  martial  bugles, 
And  cries  from  half-forgotten  years.     The  words 
Of  her  who  bore  me  seemed  to  load  the  wind; 
Its  damp,  cool  fingers  brushed  my  hair  like  hers. 

"My  father's  orphan  son,  denied  alike 
His  care  and  right  to  love  his  memory, 
Hence  doubly  fatherless,  turned  in  thought  to  him. 
All  call  me  'mother's  child,'  yet  oftentimes 
When  sad  old  voices  seemed  to  wail  at  night 
From  purgatorial  peaks  beyond  the  dawn, 
I've  thought  a  nobler  self,  that  died  in  him, 
Revived  in  me  might  heal  his  branded  name. 
But,  hoping  that,  my  only  memory  of  him 
Remains  a  nightmare.    Both  my  homes  he  haunted, 
A  ghost  none  mentioned,  none  would  seem  to  know. 

"Then   came   a   knock,   a    face,   and   whispered 

voice, 

That  called  me  down  to  see  within  that  bed 
Where  years  ago  my  cousin's  wife  had  lain, — 
And  where  her  gray-haired  sister,  called  in  need, 


JORDAN  FARMS  53 

By  Henry  stood, — a  dying  woman  lie. 
My  cousin  found  her,  senseless,  drenched,  alone, 
Beside  the  road,  where,  cold  in  mist  and  rain, 
The  wind  for  miles  unbroken  broke  at  last 
Through  shuddering  birches  high  on  Harmon  hill. 
She  thought  them  strangers,  knew   her   end  was 

near, 

And  poured  from  burdened  heart  a  life  of  shame, 
Yet  piteous  too;  but  as  I  crossed  the  sill, 
A  single  word  she  uttered  thrilled  us  all, — 
My  father's  name,  and  how  they  once  had  parted, 
And  three  years  later  through  a  city  crowd 
She  heard  him  call  her  old  true  name,  but  found 
A  broken  spirit  moodily  craving  her; 
And  came  with  him  to  live  on  Harmon  hill. 

"All  there  was  changed;  he  drank,  but  drank 

alone. 

Those  laughing  lips  had  little  laughter  now, 
Brooding  and  fierce;  but  that  she  hardly  mourned. 
For  none  were  left  to  love  him  then  but  her, 
Or  flatter  him,  who  from  his  cradle  up 
Had  fed  on  flattery;  so  he  turned  to  her, 
Her  own  at  last  unchallenged.     Then  with  time 
He  grew  more  gentle,  kind  in  little  ways, 
And  brooded  over  bygone  things,  and  said, 
She  must  not  judge  one  whom  his  parents  cursed 
Before  his  birth  with  wayward  moods  and  will, 


54  JORDAN  FARMS 

First  cousins,  marrying  as  her  church  forbade. 
The  very  noon  he  drowned  he  kissed  her  brow; 
And  there  that  moment  willed  her  all  he  owned 
On  this  old  yellowing  leaf  that  twenty  years 
She'd  worn  and  gazed  at,  signed  his  dying  day. 
No  man  before  had  given  her  in  her  life 
A  dollar,  save  to  buy  his  own  delight; 
Here  were  gold  keys  to  uninsulted  days 
From  one  whose  passions  death  had  stilled  forever. 
For  that  in  sickness  now  she  dragged  her  feet 
To  see  the  house  where  once  they  lived,  she  said. 
All  men  were  praising  Henry,  cursing  him; 
Soon   the   one   voice   that   cursed   him   not   would 

cease, 

And  tongues  lay  waste  his  undefended  name 
For  years ;  but  even  in  death  she  bade  us  tell 
That  one  who  knew  him  found  his  gentler  side. 

"With  that  her  message  closed.     Some  random 

words 

She  added  later,  which  we  hardly  heard, 
Only  I  know  the  dead  man's  name  was  there. 
With  thoughts  none  dared  to  tell  we  watched  by 

her 
In  turn,  at  midnight  closed  her  lifeless  eyes. 

"No  sleep  for  me  could  follow  that;  and  pale, 
In  pallid  dawn,  I  stole  by  room  and  stair. 
The  household  Bible,  open  wide,  lay  still 


JORDAN  FARMS  55 

Where  one  had  read  who  slept  no  more  than  I; 
And  on  the  Family  Record,  yet  undried, 
Where  years  ago  his  hand  had  torn  it  off, 
And  morning's  beam,  like  God's  own  finger,  now 
Moved  over  it,  as  if  in  books  above, 
My  father's  name  was  written  in  again. 

"Steps  creaked  on  floors  above;  and,  shunning 

speech, 

And  haunted  still  by  bat-winged  thoughts  of  night, 
I  walked  abroad  to  meet  the  healing  day. 
A  tender  halo,  grief  toned  down  by  time, 
All  round  my  way,  for  whom  a  voice  that  night 
Had  blown  its  trumpet  summoning  up  the  dead, 
Enringed  the  present  where  the  past  had  been. 
It  haunted  all:  the  fallen  graveyard  stone, 
Whose  weathered  names  were  lost  in  trailing  vines ; 
The  long  deserted  home,  whose  hollow  eyes 
Gazed  blank   and  windowless;   cobwebbed  beams 

of  barns; 

And  fences  piled  by  buried  fingers,  brown 
And  lichened  rails,  frail  as  an  old  man's  frame, 
Their  corners  bound  with  knots  of  bitter-sweet, 
Ivy  and  starry  clematis,  and  brush 
Like  dense  oblivion  crowding  on  their  age. 
Man's  inner  essence  clothed  what  man  had  made. 
In  these  dead  hearts  that  now  no  more  could  harm, 
Misunderstand  or  threat  or  rival  me, 


56  JORDAN  FARMS 

I  read  our  human  mystery  as  no  eye 

Could  see  it  through  the  passionate  mist  of  life. 

"But   when   the   roads   grew   full   of   clattering 

teams, 
Through  woodland  walks  I  turned,  where  once  I 

played 
With    wild,     strange    mates     among    the    talking 

boughs. 

Now  deep  and  solemn  morning  whispered  there. 
The   voice   of   centuries  breathed  through   serrate 

leaves 

Of  ancient  oaks  that  garner  truths  of  time. 
The  hemlock  kings,  whose  dots  of  growing  green 
On  darker  foliage  left  from  former  years 
Made  royal  ermine,  deigned  me  audience  high 
Those  airy  hours  of  June;  and  tips  of  growth 
Around  them  flaming  crowned  the  dusky  pine, 
Youth's    Christmas    torches    bright    on    limbs    of 

green. 

"I  spied  a  figure  soon  that  moved  before, 
Not  seeing  me,  by  knoll  and  dripping  fall, 
Till  where  a  cataract  plunged  my  guardian  turned, 
And  meeting  there  we  talked  of  random  things. 
At  last  he  said:  'To-day  my  office  ends, 
And  what   the   old  have   known  the  young  must 

know. 
Now  read  this  letter,  dim  with  all  the  years 


JORDAN  FARMS  57 

Your  mother's  grave  has  greened,  her  last  fare 
well. 

It  came  the  day  before  I  found  you  first.' 
In  the  dark,  silent  wood  I  kneeled  and  read. 


THE  LETTER 

'  'Friend,  I  am  dying.     Let  my  letter  sound 
Like  legends  graved  on  ancient  sepulchres, 
Causing  mild  sadness  but  no  violent  grief 
For  those  who  grieve  no  more.     You   asked  me 

once 

How  one  like  me  could  choose  the  man  I  chose. 
Would  God  some  barrier  then  had  risen  between! 
My  mother  died  too  soon  for  face  or  voice 
To  be  recalled.     From  letters  left  by  her 
I  learned  my  parentage,  built  wistful  dreams 
Round    that    far,    unknown    land    where    kindred 

dwelt 

Who  knew  not  me,  and  where  my  parents  grew. 
Behold  fate's  irony.     From  that  land  came  one 
Not  of  our  blood,  but  with  a  life  inwoven 
At  every  thread  with  lives  akin  to  mine. 
For  that  my  heart  leapt  forth  to  him;  and  he, 
Who    felt    his    power    but    knew    not    that    which 

gave  it, 


58  JORDAN  FARMS 

Played  on  my  moods,  and  watched  his  time,  and 

won. 
He  wed  my  savings;  I  a  woman's  dream. 

'  'The  rest  you  know,  and  knowing,  think  of  me, 
That  she  who  once  was  but  your  uncle's  wife, 
May  be  your  cousin  now.     O  friend,  if  fate 
Weigh  not  too  heavy  where  it  long  has  weighed, 
Remember  my  poor  boy,  who,  left  unhelped, 
May  knock  some  wintry  day  at  strangers'  doors, 
And  at  my  grave,  nor  win  response  from  either.' 


"Tears  blurred  my  mother's   faded  name;   and 

pale, 

In  that  transfiguring  hour  that  comes  to  all 
By  love  and  faith  and  courage  kin  to  God, 
However  poor,  my  gray  companion  spoke. 

"  'The  years/  he  said,  'this  morning  made  you 

man. 

Your  sun  is  up  to-day,  and  mine  is  down; 
And  in  my  heart  a  warning  cry,  that  soon 
The  boy  I  reared  must  fill  my  empty  room. 
My  child,  my  blood,  the  voice  is  in  your  veins 
That  tells  you  more  of  me  than  tongue  can  tell. 
I  once  had  hopes  and  dreams  that  fire  you  now. 
They  came  to  nothing;  yet  for  them  I  vowed 
To  clear  your  life  of  bars  that  ruined  mine. 


JORDAN  FARMS  59 

My  task  is  done,  and  I  at  Heaven's  throne 
Without  a  blush  may  meet  your  mother's  eye. 
God  bless  your  manhood  all  the  years  to  come. 
If  ever  on  trails  of  thought  you  seem  to  find 
The  burnt-out  fires  of  travelers  gone  before, 
Remember  me,  the  blood  so  near  your  own, 
Not  as  men  viewed,  but  as  I  strove  to  be.' 

"Each  rustic  trace  and  mark  of  blighted  growth 
Fell  from  him  now;  I  saw  him,  what  he  was, 
A  soul  unbroken  'mid  its  ruined  plans, 
A  baffled  longing  out  of  ending  age 
Forever  looking  westward  unfulfilled, 
The  selfsame  longing  bold  with  youth  in  me. 
A  sunbeam  wrapped  his  face  in  glory,  eyes 
Mild  as  a  spaniel's,  though  the  eagle's  beak 
Soared  high  and  bold  between ;  that  lofty  brow, 
Like  mountain  domes  that  linger  long  in  light 
Of  hopes  that  shine  not  on  the  glens  below. 
And  all  that  centuries  back  my  sires  and  his 
Had  hoped  and  willed  in  vain,  welled  up  in  me, 
As  earth's  long  caverned  waters  leap  in  sun. 

"Hours    glided   there,    and   late    we    journeyed 

home.  i 

The  sainted  wood  that  day  for  halo  wore 
Reflected  glamour  from  my  burning  mood. 
A  Titan's  face  the  gray  rock  profile  peered. 
With  roots  like  human  limbs  that  yellow  birch 


60  JORDAN  FARMS 

Bestrode  yon  bowlder  like  a  dryad  chained. 
And  wandering  gleams  of  light  for  ushers  led 
With  golden  mace  by  aisle  and  anteroom 
To  grassy  vistas  fenced  with  towering  trees. 

"There  fell  on  me  a  spell,  an  awe,  a  fear, 
As  of  a  God  revealed.     The  grove  ahead 
Seemed  grove  no  more,  but  some  cathedral's  pile. 
The  small  dark  cedars  that  with  cones  of  shade 
Did  dot  the  clearing  were  as  monks  to  me, 
In  twos  and  groups  assembling  at  the  hour 
Of  prayer.    And  as  we  entered  now  the  wood, 
I  thought  to  read  on  some  huge  bowlder's  face, 
As  on  a  cornerstone,  in  mossy  runes: 
'Built  by  the  Eternal  ere  the  birth  of  time.' 
Through  distant  chantries  like  retiring  choirs 
Trilled  birds,  or  wakened  echo's  antiphon. 
A  living  gargoyle,  mischievous  and  quaint, 
The  squirrel  peered  from  leaf  and  pillared  tree; 
And  ruddy  fungus  through  the  gloom  burned  faint 
As  glimmering  tapers  round  a  shrine.     And  on, 
Beyond  the  columns  and  the  tracery, 
A  sheeted  cataract  fell,  from  which  there  came 
In  solemn  truth  a  voice  behind  the  veil. 
That  which  methought  it  uttered  was  more  true 
Than  truly  uttered;  but  I  heard  it  thus, 
That  forest  Pythian:  'Child,  the  faith  is  here, 
More  old  than  Rome's,  more  pure  than  Luther's. 


JORDAN  FARMS  61 

Lo, 

Earth's  mighty  manhood  soaring  up  in  song; 
Not  verse  alone,  but  that  for  which  all  verse 
Is  but  the  sermon,  prayer,  or  choral  stave, 
The  creed  itself,  the  mystery  and  the  power, 
Unfailing  comfort,  consolation  deep, 
The  light,  the  hope,  the  God  within  the  bread: 
The  God  of  growth,  whose  creed  is  endless  change 
Of  every  creed  in  light  of  what  we  learn, 
Who  willed  not  that  a  spiderweb  of  words 
Should  bind  the  Samson  in  our  race,  yet  less 
That  his  blind  force  should  pull  all  temples  down; 
Whose  written  word  is  this  vast  universe, 
From  vellum  scroll  to  earth's  wide  verdure,  sea, 
Star-nursing    night,    child's    face,    and    prophet's 

dream. 

In  name  of  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost, 
Young,  eager  heart,  ordained  for  aiding  earth, 
Into  the  creed  that  was,  is,  and  shall  be 
Do  I  baptize  thee  MAN/    And  on  my  brow 
The    drops    were    sprinkled    from    the    bounding 

foam. 

I  know  not  what  my  bowed  companion  heard; 
But  through  the  woodland  hand  in  hand  we  went. 

"New   years   came   following   fast,   with   duties 

new, 
And  hopes  that  drew  me  like  ascending  flame 


62  JORDAN  FARMS 

Through  magic  books  and  haunted  hearts  of  men, 
Till  love  at  last,  full  rounding,  claimed  its  own. 
My  little  maid  before  I  knew  laid  by 
Youth's  chrysalis  and  rose  a  woman  soul, 
Tender  and  womanly,  hallowing  life  for  me. 
Then  late  in  summer  on  an  afternoon, 
Beside  a  roguish,  dimpling,  laughing  brook 
I  asked  and  won  her  pledge  of  wife.     And  there 
In  love's  first  hour  of  full,  unfolding  speech 
We  roamed  together  memory-haunted  ways 
Of  earlier  hours  where  once  we  walked  alone; 
Or  through  the  unbounded  future,  broad  and  warm, 
Beheld  our  home's  bright  window  star  the  nights 
To  be.     Then  from  a  bough  that  earlier  turned 
Than  all  the  rest  we  tore  the  reddening  leaves, 
And  wound  them  gayly  round  each  other's  brows, 
And  laughed;  but  underneath  the  ripple  ran 
Our  blending  lives  in  full,  harmonious  flow. 

"Too  beautiful  it  was  there  soon  to  leave, 
And  long  we  stayed.     Below  us  danced  the  brook 
That   laughed   and   twinkled   when   my   grandsire 

wooed ; 

And  ever  we  heard  the  soft  and  dreamy  wind 
Through  the  wild  grape-vine  and  the  plumy  corn 
Bear  scent  of  ripening  ears  and  clusters,  peace 
As  old  as  Eshcol  and  Saturnian  fields. 


JORDAN  FARMS  63 

The  sun  went  down;  the  clouds  on  peak  and  range 
Like  vast,  ethereal  altars  flamed  to  heaven; 
And  toward  man's  temple  of  primordial  joy 
Our  hearts  went  up  to  love's  Jerusalem. 

"Beneath    that    star    that    poured    its    melting 

mood 

Through  darkened  mind  and  iron  hearts  of  old, 
I  sought  the  one  who  mothering  life  so  dear 
Henceforth  might  mother  me.     I  heard  her  step 
With  beating  heart  that  wondered  why  it  beat — 
She  long  had  known,  she  loved  me  as  a  son — 
And  faltering  told  her  all,  our  promise  made, 
My  poverty  but  will  to  work  and  rise, 
The  long  years  we  must  wait.     'Why  wait?'  she 

said; 
'The  old  grow  feeble  though  you,  the  young,  are 

strong; 

And  death  might  come  to  us  before  the  joy 
That  hour  would  bring.     Your  wife  has  wealth  for 

both. 

Why  should  I  shame  beneath  my  hoary  hairs 
To  tell  the  truth  in  ears  I  trust?     Young  man, 
I  loved  your  cousin,  all  my  days  I  did; 
Yet  loved  my  sister  too,  was  proud  to  see 
The  man  she  chose  through  many  a  lonesome  year 
Revere  her  memory.     So  her  gentle  ghost 
Walked  evermore  between  my  hopes  and  me. 
And  once,  by  memories  thrilled,  we  spoke  of  this, 


64,  JORDAN  FARMS 

Frankly,  as  friends  of  many  a  year  might  speak; 
But  both,  remembering  that  sweet,  buried  face, 
Grew  dumb,  and  never  mentioned  love  again. 
We  could  not  marry;  now  our  children  can. 
We,  gray-haired  ghosts  of  long  forgotten  youth, 
Might  at  your  bridal  feel  our  lives  fulfilled. 
Work  hard,  and  play  the  man;  but,  sir,  be  sure 
False  pride  ill  suits  true  love,  and  marry  now/ 

"So  that  same  autumn  heard  our  wedding  bells, 
That  echoed  through  the  ancient  hills,  as  if 
Old  loves  awakening  welcomed  in  the  new. 
Through  crowds  our  parents  came  to  wish  us  joy. 
Her  lips  were  smiling;  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 
But  he,  who  saw  my  bride  beneath  her  veil 
So  like  the  aunt  he  wedded  long  ago, 
Blest  us  with  trembling  voice.     'Who  knows,'  he 

said, 

'How  long  the  blessings  God  allows  may  last? 
Turn  not  your  back  on  love  while  love  is  here.' 
In  sun  and  music  and  a  world  of  flowers 
We  parted.     'But  we  soon  return,'  my  bride 
Whispered  my  cousin;  'you  must  share  our  home, 
And  be  my  father.     Promise.'     And  he  did. 
Then  out  we  drove.     Beneath  the  maple  tree, 
Whose  earliest  loosened  leaves,  green,  gold,  and 

red, 
Fell  floating  round,  he  stood  and  waved  farewell; 


JORDAN  FARMS  65 

And  cheerily  through  the  autumn  air  his  voice 
Pursued  us,  'Till  we  meet  again,  my  children.' 

"We  left  him  glad,  came  back  and  found  him 

dead. 

May  men  lament  for  me  as  I  for  him. 
He  made  the  most  of  what  his  fates  had  marred; 
God  grant  I  mar  not  what  he  made  of  me." 


F.     NUNC  DIMITTIS— BEING  WHAT  I 

FOUND  AMONG  HENRY  JORDAN'S 

PAPERS   AND   WHAT   DREAMS 

I  DREAMED  OVER  THEM 

This  little  volume,  traced  in  woman's  hand, 
With   faded  ink  and   ancient  watermark, 
And  withered  roses  laid  between  the  leaves, 
In  Henry's  desk  I  found  at  Jordan  Farms, 
Piled   on   with   papers,   creased   and   blurred   and 

frayed 

From  many  a  reading.     Strange  how  it  lay  there, 
And  no  one  saw  but  me.     It  is  the  diary 
Of  Ellen  Jordan,  'tis  a  woman's  life. 
You  read  it  not,  for  holy  ground  is  this. 
But  humbly  here  my  spirit  trod,  and  found 
The  noble  dream  replaced  by  noble  truth; 
The  hope  that  died,  the  hope  that  lived  and  grew 
Beyond  all  hope;  misgivings  worn  away; 
And  faded  violets  of  sweet  bygone  thought 
Enfolded  here,  as  pure  a  shrine  to  love 
As  famed  Mahal's  in  India's  mighty  tomb. 

Here  Henry's  comment  lines  the  closing  page, 
Dated  one  evening  in  the  month  he  died: 
"Late  must  we  learn  to  know  the  hearts  we  love; 


JORDAN  FARMS  67 

To  bridge  the  darkened  gulf  of  sex  and  blood, 
Across  which  lovers  daily  clasp  their  hands, 
And  kiss,  and  comprehend  not.     Know  me  now, 
Pure  bride,  unveiled  by  time,  more  dear  than  she, 
That  sweet,  veiled  stranger  whom  I  wooed  as  you. 
Like  night  and  day  in  twilight's  golden  fringe, 
One  hour  of  mutual  thought  our  days  allowed; 
But  many  a  sunny  mood  was  blank  to  me, 
And  through  my  night  shone  stars  you  never  saw. 
Yet  blest  it  was  in  that  one  twilight  hour 
To  walk  and  understand — before  you  died. 
We    won    much    here,    love;    what    we    missed    is 

yonder. 

We  here  saw  darkly  as  through  glass,  but  there 
See  face  to  face."     So  wrote  he;  now  he  sees. 

Near  this  a  letter  from  his  cousin  lay, 
The  bridegroom's  happy  message,  and  his  bride's, 
Read  that  same  day.     And  down  the  margin  ran 
A  note  in  Henry's  hand:  "Spent  half  the  night 
In  praying  God  to  bless  their  married  life, 
And  thinking  of  my  own."     At  Jordan  Farms, 
Alone  at  night  before  a  crumbling  fire, 
I  held  these  documents  of  the  dead,  and  thought. 

You  may  have  seen  in  darkened  windowpanes 
A  lamp's  reflected  flame,  and  back  of  that 
Reflection  on  reflection,  flame  on  flame 
In  fading  file,  that,  each  a  neighbor's  ghost, 


68  JORDAN  FARMS 

Build  stairs  through  Nightland.     So  did  dream  on 

dream, 

And  visions  viewed  by  one  in  vision  seen, 
Float  up  before  me  from  the  smoldering  coals. 
I  sitting  there  saw  Henry  sitting  there 
Alone  without  me,  gazing  at  the  fire, 
And  through  his  eyes  seemed  viewing  what  he  saw. 

In  far-off  lands,  by  mountain-guarded  lake, 
Or  castled  river,  or  gray  citadel, 
Walked   two   young   lovers.      And   the    landscape 

shrank 

In  flickering  flames ;  but  those  two  faces  loomed 
Fresh  in  the  foreground  with  rejoicing  eyes, 
And    seemed    to    wave    their    hands    toward    one 

unseen. 

Then  these  gave  way  to  scenes  more  dim  and  old, 
A    time-worn    farmhouse,    trees,    and    clumps    of 

flowers 

Our  mothers  loved,  a  form  among  the  flowers, 
With  gentle  mien  and  garb  of  other  days. 
The  clock  ticked  loudly  from  the  land  of  time, 
Unheard,  unheeded  on  that  timeless  shore. 
Flames  leapt  and  fell,  and  pictures  went  and  came, 
But  through  them  all  that  same  sweet  bygone  face. 

Slowly  around  on  hill  and  homestead  fell 
The  vast,  dead  silence  of  a  world  asleep. 
Loose  clapboards  rattled  in  the  wind,  and  stars 


JORDAN  FARMS  69 

From  western  trails  looked  in  with  dying  beam. 
On  fading  fire  and  fading  memories 
Night  crept  and  slumber ;  and  good  angels  watched 
Above  the  sleeper,  waiting  for  the  dawn. 


So  ends  the  record  that  I  wove  with  warp 
Of  fact  and  woof  of  fancy;  yet  I  trust, 
In  closing  here,  that  eyes  look  down  well  pleased 
From  Heaven's  immeasurable  realm  of  peace. 
Last  by  God's  Acre  when  the  glorious  west 
Renewed  our  faith  in  good  Saint  John,  I  came. 
Round  Henry's  headstone,  bright  with  day's  adieu, 
Husband  and  wife,  that  happy  family  stood 
Which,  save  for  love  and  deeds  of  him  below, 
Had  never  been,  heads  bowed  in  grateful  prayer. 
And  Wellman's  grandchild,  only  ten  months'  old, 
Was  dropping  wildflowers  on  the  sunlit  grave. 

END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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JUL  81 1919 


50rn-7,'16 


mQd%f^kfr 


358003 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


